


We Don't Break

by octoberinlondon



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberinlondon/pseuds/octoberinlondon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Life has made me a warrior. You’ve been forged by the battlefield, Richard. I have been forged by life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Break

Her lower lip was twitching. He still knew what it meant. He could still read her. She wasn’t an open book to him, she’d never been, but he’d learnt to read her anyways. _Better don’t make her angry. It’s too late._ She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t sad. She was angry. Had she been born as a man, she would have been an excellent warrior. Perhaps even a better warrior than he was. Than he’d ever be. 

When he looked into her eyes, he could see the steel in them. The years of fighting for her live, the years of being afraid. At one point, she’d decided not to be afraid anymore. That was when her eyes had turned to steel. They used to look like sapphires, and when he tried really hard, he could still see the glistening reflections of these precious gemstones in her eyes.

He loved her. He was grateful she loved him back. He knew it. _He could feel it._ She’d fought for him, as much as he’d fought for her. _“Life has made me a warrior. You’ve been forged by the battlefield, Richard. I have been forged by life,”_ she’d told him once. He still believed her. 

Her head turned, her long, gracious neck reminding him of the swan’s he’d once seen on a little lake close to Fotheringhay. He’d been a little boy back then, but he’d never forgotten the grace of these animals. Anne’s lips curled into a smile. _My sweet Anne,_ he thought. For a second, her eyes shone like sapphires again. Deep and blue. 

The Queen’s head turned back in a sudden, almost hurried motion. The steel had returned to her eyes, and Richard cleared his throat. _“It’s not our choice, Anne. We must take these steps, or we’ll perish.”_ Sometimes they both wished there would have been a choice. They had to take the throne. Richard had thought about his family, all he wanted was to keep his family safe. 

The last time a child king had ruled England, it had fallen into a bloody, traumatising war. He’d come to understand his father and his brother. They’d been tired of a boy ruining their beloved country. 

A Woodville king would have been the death of him. He thought of Elizabeth and her children in the safety of their sanctuary. He was not a monster. Elizabeth wanted them to see him as one, she would even give her life for it, he was sure. He had to admit, he’d made decisions others wouldn’t call wise. Anne had never left his side. 

His hand covered hers, and he felt her thumb stroking his hand gently. He still called her “my little Duchess” sometimes. It wasn’t because he couldn’t see her as queen, but out of a habit that refused to let him call her “my little Queen”. She would smile and pull him close to kiss him.

Both of them had changed. Anne thought they’d really grown up. They used to be little children, spending their days at Middleham, pretending to be grown-ups. Whatever had happened, it had urged them to grow up. The Richard who’d left her at Middleham had been a young boy, worried by the world he’d started to understand just very recently. 

When she’d come to London to join him, the young boy was gone. He was a man, anger and sorrow had carved wrinkles into his skin, and she’d known immediately that she had to grow up as well and be his equal once more. 

“I am tired, Richard,” she murmured into his ear. He nodded, not sure whether she was tired of the number of Lords wanting their attention, or their lives in general. He rose to his full height, raising his voice. Whenever he did that, she used to think of thunderstorms. 

“My Lords, the Queen and I wish to retire. Whatever it is, it will have to wait until tomorrow.” 

They knew he wouldn’t allow any objections. They bowed as the King offered his hand to the Queen. The Queen nodded and took his hand, a perfect example of self-control. _A perfect Queen. Better than the last one. The Queen is the only one who knows how to handle the King…_

“I don’t trust Stanley, he’s playing games behind our…your back, Richard,” she hissed as soon as she felt safe enough, the eyes of the courtiers not following her any longer. A grunt was the answer and she knew he agreed with her. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Anne knew she would massage his temples as soon as they’d be alone. 

“I don’t trust him either…you’ve learnt pretty fast…but I don’t know if I actually have a choice,” he growled before he started to chew on his lower lip. He’d always done so. They’d been little children as she’d first noticed it. “We have to be stronger and smarter than they are.” His hand stroked her arm, gently caressing it. 

“I thought we are stronger and smarter than they are.” She grinned, her lips forming a smile he liked to call “the Neville-Smile” he knew it from his mother. He knew Anne had it, and he knew their son had it. He knew she was up to something. Richard stopped for a second, looking into her eyes. Sapphires again. 

“Well, we are stronger and smarter. That’s why I want you to welcome Margaret Beaufort as one of your closest friends.”

Anne knitted her eyebrows, her mask and self-control slipping through her fingers for just a second. Richard laughed, suddenly reminded of his attempt to make Anne jealous by telling her about the marriage proposal he’d received from Margaret Beaufort. He’d failed miserably. He’d made her jealous, but she’d turned the tables and walked away from him. 

It had made him realise she was stronger than he’d thought. 

Anne closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Whatever this will be good for,” she nodded. No, she wasn’t fond of Margaret Beaufort. She would trust neither her, nor Stanley. Both were dangerous. Playing games with them was dangerous, but she would do it. She would do everything for him. 

As soon as the doors of her chamber closed behind them, she pulled him close, her fingers playing with his curls. “I know what you've thought of,” she murmured, sounding like a cat, enchanting and dangerous at the same time. “I thought you’d forgotten…” 

“Ha, no, I never could. You taught me one of the best lessons back then.”

His hands travelled over her body, exploring it. It seemed as if he’d been lost and had just found his way back to her. He pulled her hips closer to her, eliciting a surprised gasp from her lips.

“I wonder what that lesson would be.”

He grinned against her neck, breathing against it, making her shudder. 

“Never to make you angry.” 

She would let herself fall. Just like she’d done so many times before. She knew he’d catch her. He wouldn’t let her fall.


End file.
